Locked in a Photograph
by whitetiger91
Summary: Losing a child is hard for any mother, even a Black; so why can't Walburga admit it? Set in 1979.


**Locked in a Photograph**

Walburga ran her thumb across the photograph, unable to take her eyes off the boy's face. She remembered his eyes had always been so grey as they were in the picture—as grey as her own. They stared at her, a mischievous twinkle in them that dared her to look away. His hair hadn't always been to his shoulders, nor as unkempt as it were in the picture. It swung from side to side as he waved and jostled the boys next to him, but Walburga remembered that it had always been just as dark.

 _Had._ What she never could seem to remember was that the boy would—could—no longer wave at her.

Pinching the photograph between her fingers, she tried not to let the boy break her heart again, to not make her cry as no respectable Pureblood witch should. Her eyes stung for a moment as tears threatened to fall, but with a few quick breaths, she ordered them away.

With one last look at the smirking face, she placed the photograph into a small wooden box.

"What were you looking at?"

Walburga's heart gave a small leap at the sound of Orion's voice. She had thought her husband was at work, and after having ordered all the house-elves to re-polish the silverware they had already done the day before, had assumed she was alone. Alone to delve through memories she didn't want or deserve.

She took a moment to steady her heart before turning to Orion. Raising a thin eyebrow, she said, "You're home early."

Although they were also grey, Orion's eyes held no mischievousness in them. They pierced into her own as he folded his arms.

"I finished what I needed to do. Now tell me, what were you looking at?" he repeated.

Walburga straightened her back and kept her gaze on his, ignoring the box. Her heart was racing again, yet she refused to let him see her discomfort.

"Not that it is any of your business, I was looking at a few old photographs," she said, folding her own arms across her chest. "I felt I needed some inspiration for my ball, and since I am the only one I know who can actually throw a ball fit for society, I thought I'd look back at past events that we've hosted."

The lie came naturally enough, just as so many had before. And just as they usually did, Orion appeared to buy her story.

"I see," he said.

Without another word, he took off his tie and headed into his dressing room. Walburga did not move until she heard the click of the door and the muffled sounds of her husband undressing. Then, and only then, did she feel safe enough to move.

Pressing a hand to her wildly beating heart, she took a deep breath and opened her dresser's top drawer. She took out her wand and murmured a quick incantation, revealing a small storage compartment behind a panel in the back of the drawer. Turning back to the box, she pointed her wand at it, intent on sealing its contents within.

Unfortunately, Orion decided that that was the perfect moment to emerge from his dressing room, clothed in clean, purple robes.

"I suppose you'll want my help with the ball, then?" he said, walking over to her. "Why don't you show me those photographs?"

Walburga was frozen to the spot, her wand still aimed at the box. Part of her urged her to lock the box so that at least Orion could not see its contents. Another, stronger part of her knew, however, that it was already too late.

"I don't think you'd be interested, you never are unless it's to check the costs," she said and placed her wand back into her pocket.

She looked up at Orion, seeing his lips twisted up into a small smirk. He was now in front of the dresser, and, seeming to sense her defeat, he picked up the box. When he opened the lid, she looked down at her feet, cursing her stupidity and slowness.

"Nonsense. Although I must say, this doesn't look like a photograph from a ball."

Walburga looked up. Orion was holding the photograph that she had so carefully hidden ever since—since _he_ had left them, never to return again. There was no trace of the smirk on Orion's face as he stared down at it.

She opened her mouth to speak, to explain why she had such a photograph in her possession. When they realised that the boy was gone forever, she had urged Orion to remove any traces of him that existed in the house. She could not bare seeing reminders of him everywhere she turned, and when Orion agreed it was for the best to let go and forget, she set to work destroying anything of his she could get her hands on. Any other mother would perhaps have kept a few items, a robe, maybe, or a favourite childhood toy; Walburga, however, would have none of it. It had only taken one day to erase a lifetime of memories, just as it had only taken them one day to erase his life.

The truth was, however, she was not sure why she had it. The photograph had been sent to her anonymously, years after it had happened, and for some inexplicable reason, she found that she could not burn it or throw it away. At first, she had thought she was cursed to keep it, a taunt of something she had lost, of something that she had not been able to control. It was only when she had grown frustrated one evening and thrown it into the fireplace, only to risk burns and reach her hand in to retrieve it a moment later, that she realised it was something within her preventing her from destroying the photograph. Something sentimental, unnatural—something vile.

"You're not angry that I have it?" she asked after minutes of silence.

Orion's eyes appeared clouded over, as though he, too, had become lost in the young boy's handsome face. He blinked a few times before he finally responded. "Surprised, perhaps, but not angry."

Walburga took a step closer, reaching out for the photograph. "Well, good, because it's none of your business," she said.

Orion drew the photograph closer to him, his eyes still trained on the smiling youth. "He was my son, too," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

 _Was._ There was one of those words again, a past tense to remind her they now had no son.

Orion sighed. Putting the photograph into the box, he straightened up and looked once more into her eyes. "But he is gone now. Dead to us. We mustn't dwell on the past."

Then, without another word, he walked past Walburga and left the room.

She turned her gaze back to the box. Orion had not shut the lid, and there, staring out at her was the handsome face of her son. Her hand lingered over the box, her fingers itching to pick up the photograph. Just one last look, and the memory of him would stop torturing her for good.

Closing her eyes, Walburga push down the lid of the box. No, she didn't need a last look to shut him out. Siri—the boy was dead, at least to them, and there was no point thinking about such sentimental rubbish.

* * *

 ** _A/N: This fic was written for ChocolateWonder's Mother's Day Celebration challenge on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Competition (HPFC) forum. The task was to write a story featuring a situation involving a mother from the list with her child/children._**

 ** _I apologise for this story… the idea sounded alright in my head, but putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) was harder than I thought. If you thought it was referring to Regulus, perhaps some of it did work haha. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this story, and any reviews are welcome :)_**

 ** _Happy Mother's Day to all mothers, past and present! Xx_**

 ** _Word count: 1233 words_**


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